A Moment to Breathe

Mirror and Image

Ezra looked out the viewport of the nosegun, Kanan by his side, trying to see what his master saw. Chopper Base was destroyed, half the fleet was a smoking field of debris in Atollan's atmosphere, the attack on Lothal was scrapped... how could there be a bright side to this? All Ezra could see was pain, loss. All the survivors on the Ghost felt the same as him, he could feel their defeat in waves, and it echoed in harmony with his own, and he couldn't figure out how there was a bright side to this.

"There's a future for us, one where we're all free."

The words rippled off Ezra, he could feel things changing inside of him, things he didn't understand and couldn't put into words. Could Kanan see that? Could he look into the Force and just... know something like that? Were there secrets Ezra had yet to learn? He looked to his master, wanting to hear more, wanting that feeling to spread, grow bigger, to have a name to it. Kanan's blind gaze looked out the viewport, somehow passed the viewport, passed the defeat, passed the loss.

"... But it's up to us to make it happen."

"How do you know that?" Ezra asked. "How to can you just... say something like that like it's this easy thing to do?"

Kanan looked to his pupil, eyes unseeing, but somehow seeing everything. "It's not an easy thing to do," he said. "Nothing worth doing is ever easy to do. That's what makes it worth fighting for. You have to decide how much of a fight you'll give it." Then came a sardonic smile, the self-deprecation that was so Kanan the Jedi wisdom seemed less foreign. "For a long time I didn't understand that. I wanted to do as little as possible. I didn't want to risk what little I thought I had. Hera taught me what was worth fighting for. Zeb taught me why it was so important. Sabine taught me how damaging doing nothing could be. And you, Ezra, you showed me how much I was willing to sacrifice."

Ezra shied away from the statement, Malachor and Maul and the Sith holocron filling his mind. He was ashamed of how lost he had become without Kanan, still blamed himself for what happened even though Kanan never did. "... You shouldn't have had to sacrifice so much."

And Kanan shrugged.

"I haven't sacrificed everything yet," he said. "But if the time comes, I will."

Ezra shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the idea, but Kanan was already cutting the sensation off, reaching around and putting an arm around the boy's shoulders. It took longer now, Kanan had to feel his way around to do it properly, but the warmth was still the same, and the feeling of home swept over him.

… Master Kenobi was right. This was where he belonged.

Kree and Slater listened to the conversation, but only dimly. Kree was pulling her helmet off, rubbing her dark face and trying not to see Commander Sato make the order to abandon ship. Her eyes were burning, and the weight of everything was starting to sink in. She had been with Sato from the beginning, with Slater and Davos and Bull, manning Sato's command ship, no matter which ship it was. And now he was gone, just gone, and for what? The base was lost, the Imperials had won, and all their planning and preparation had been for not. Kree was starting to shake, cheeks damp as it all hit her. What a loss – what a loss...!

And then a hand was on her shoulder, and her tear streaked face looked up to see the Jedi, blind gaze taking her in, sympathy written all over his horribly scarred features.

"Hey," he said softly. "It will be alright."

Kree couldn't understand how he was so optimistic. She shook her head in denial.

"How?" she demanded, voice watery. Slater looked over, pulled out of his own thoughts. "How will it be alright? How will anything be alright without Commander Sato?"

The Jedi's face was pained. "Commander Sato was a good man," he said softly. "We didn't always agree on everything, but he always had his priorities straight, and he always looked out for his crew."

"Then where's Davos and Bull?" Slater asked, voice low and resentful.

The Jedi shook his head, and Kree could see the milky color of his eyes, the sadness coloring his mouth. "... I don't know," he answered honestly.

"And why weren't you up there in space?" Slater demanded. "You could have gotten help to come sooner! You're a Jedi! Why were you on the planet with us?"

Jarrus shook his head, looking away. "I was trying to get help."

"Help? Help?" Slater demanded. "That storm took down our ships! How was that help!"

Kree was shaking again, Sato's face filling her mind, and Jarrus squeezed her shoulder, hand having never left. "I know," he said softly, not answering Slater's question. "I know. Cry. Let it out. Release the pain to the Force. Holding it in won't help." His words were soothing, soft, gentle. Another hand touched her shoulder, and all Kree could think of of Sato doing the same when she lost her sister, and a deep, pained wail swelled up and out of her chest, and Jedi or not she didn't care anymore, just clutched his shirt and cried. Slater's accusations died on his lips at seeing his partner in such a state, and more hands were on her back, and Kree let all of her pain out.

"Okay," Hera said, getting everyone's attention in the hangar. "It'll be a tight fit, but we're going to be stuck together for a good four days as we hyper jump everywhere before we rendezvous at Yavin. Girls will sleep in the cabins, guys in the hangar and the common room. It's not perfect but it'll have to do. In eight hours we drop out of hyperspace and say goodbye to the Mandaloreans, and then we make the next jump. Zeb will hand out blankets but we don't have enough for everyone."

Kanan came up behind her, touching the small of her back to announce himself. She turned, surprised that his mask was still off. He always wore it around others, aware that his face was a mess and considerate of preventing reactions from the rest of the rebellion. He also, he once confessed, didn't want the galaxy to see how damaged he was. With so many people on board she was certain the old mask Sabine had modified would somehow find its way to his hands, but his milky eyes and 'saber scar were visible for everyone to see.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

Hera shrugged her shoulders. "Well as can be expected," she said, "All things considered."

Kanan nodded, eyes unfocused. She was used to it now, used to this Kanan who was slightly different. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Kanan made a face. "A little nervous that I made the Bendu so mad," he said, "But for now, we survived. That means we won."

"Ever the optimist I see," she said.

Milky eyes glanced over the rail to the hangar. "Someone has to be," he said softly. "It's going to take a while for everyone to see passed this. Their pain... it's overwhelming."

Hera nodded. "We took a big hit lost a lot of good people." Poor Sato... And then the aerial bombardment. "We almost lost you... Again, I might add."

"I'm sorry," he said softly, reaching up to touch her face, missing and settling for putting it on her shoulder. "I was trying to help, in my own way. The Bendu... he helped me get passed this," he gestured vaguely to his eyes, "and he hid the Sith holocron, and I'm pretty sure he helped fix my relationship with Ezra. I thought he was on our side, but he wasn't. You can demote me later."

Hera snorted, rolling her eyes. "I'm just glad you're safe."

"I'm just glad you're safe."

They shared a smile, and Hera knew the sleepless nights were coming, the pain of the defeat would hit her hard, but for now, she had solace that her luv was alive, and she took comfort in that.

Wedge docked on the Ghost after flying for eighteen hours, limbs stiff and chest a little shaky after the fight. He pulled off his helmet and nearly gave himself a concussion his hands were trembling so much. A pilot, he didn't have time to see who, passed him to go into his A-wing and take over as escort for the next jump. He saw General Dodonna talking to Captain Hera, Commander Ezra was sitting at the holotable, legs up and crossed and eyes closed. Zeb lumbered by with a bowl of something in his hand and the smell made Wedge's mouth water, his legs nearly gave out for the scent and he realized – finally – how hungry he was. The galley was the next obvious destination, and thought of passing out on the floor somewhere were pushed down his to-do list as he stumbled deeper into the ship.

The blind guy was there, hands sweeping over the counters in search for something. Jarrus turned at the sound of Wedge's footsteps, and for the first time Wedge saw the man without the mask. His eyes were milky, and the scarring was terrible – whatever happened must have been at least half as awful as the battle, and Wedge skittered to a halt. The adrenaline had long since worn out and he nearly pitched forward.

But Jarrus was there in an instant, strong arms wrapping around Wedge as his legs gave out.

"Easy, easy," he said, right baritone soft. "Let's get you sitting first before we feed you."

Wedge was guided to a bench and a table, two others were sitting there, Kree and someone else Wedge didn't have a name for (so many names he hadn't learned yet before all this happened, so many names he would never learn, so many faces he would never see again. Commander Sato...) and a warm bowl of something was placed in his hands. Only then did Wedge realize how cold he was. The A-wing must have taken a hit somewhere, or maybe there was a tear in his suit to let the absolute zero of space in. He shivered so badly his teeth chattered, and a hand enclosed of of his. He looked up and saw Jarrus, the blind guy, looking at him – or at least in his direction – a concerned frown on his face. "Eat," he said. "It will warm you up."

Wedge nodded mutely, only belatedly realizing Jarrus wouldn't see the gesture, and took a sip of the soup. Protein, salt, probably a vitamin pack – nothing special but it flooded Wedge with warmth all the way down his core and his stomach cramped with the sudden influx of nutrients to digest. He hummed and took another sip, and before he really understood how good it was, it was done, and a new bowl was placed in front of him. He looked up to Jarrus.

"We don't have enough for thirds," he said softly. "We don't have enough for seconds, really, but you were about to go into shock if you didn't get some food in you."

"Uhm," Wedge said intelligently. Kree was listing to the side, half asleep, leaning on Jarrus' shoulder. Wedge licked his lips and tried again. "Thank you."

"Any time," Jarrus said. "Just stop looking at me like I have two heads."

Wedge stiffened, realizing he had been staring at the scars, and looked down. "Sorry!" he said quickly, before realizing Jarrus couldn't see to know he was staring. Was... was he just made fun of? He looked up to see Jarrus smiling. Wedge flushed.

After his second bowl he dared to speak again, screwed up enough courage to ask the question he needed to ask, needed to hear in person. "... How'd we make out?"

Jarrus' face was serious. "We could have done worse," he said solemnly, voice low as Kree napped on his shoulder. "But I doubt we could have done better."

Wedge winced at the honest assessment, and his hands started to shake again. Adrenal failure? Shock? He wasn't sure which, and images of everything that had happened started to take over his brain: Commander Sato's sacrifice, the pitched aerial battle, disorienting explosions – all friends, never the kriffing TIEs – limping back to base, waiting, watching the bombardment, praying to the Force that the shields would hold, running to his ship again, more fighting, a building crescendo until at last there was a jump to hyperspace. So much had happened, so much he had to react to, so much he couldn't react to, didn't have time to react to, and emotion swelled in his chest. The soup was suddenly heavy in his stomach, he wasn't going to make it…!

Jarrus grabbed him as Wedge slumped out of the bench and threw up everything he had eaten. He thought he heard the baritone call something out, he wasn't sure, but there were hands on him and he was lifted and there was the sight of a 'fresher and then he was laying on a bunk. He looked at the chrono and it was six hours later. What…?

Jarrus was there again, kneeling on some kind or raised ottoman, eyes closed. They opened almost immediately, however, and unerringly snapped to Wedge. "You feeling better?" he asked.

Wedge was almost afraid to move let alone talk, he settled for nodding weakly before remembering the poor guy couldn't see. "... y-yeah…" Space, he sounded awful.

Jarrus didn't say anything immediately, just looked at him with his milky eyes, silence drawing out, thinking. "It's a hard thing," he said, "real defeat. It hits all of us differently."

Wedge looked at Captain Syndulla's first mate, hearing something he didn't immediately understand. His empathy seemed a little too profound, there was a name for it Wedge didn't know. "... What do you do?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Jarrus smiled, soft and a little wistful and a little sad. "I ran away," he said without any hesitation. "I ran to a bottle, I ran to a new planet, I ran from Hera. It took a while before I could break the habit. Now…" his voice trailed off, and Wedge was starting to think Jarrus didn't know his eyes were still open, still staring at Wedge in a way that seemed all-seeing. "Now I sit in the dark and reflect. I accept the loss, I understand what brought us to this point, and I figure out how I can be better."

Wedge shook his head. "You make that sound easy."

Jarrus snorted, eyes closing and a wry grin making him seem more human. "Oh, it's not. I'm still in the middle of doing all of that, don't let anyone tell you different. The hardest part is the reflection, because it always hurts to look at a loss."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather just forget it," Wedge said, rolling over in the bunk. Who's room was this, anyway?

He heard motion from the ottoman, felt a large hand press against the back of his shoulder. "Don't forget," Jarrus said, that weird tone back in his voice. "Don't diminish what happened by putting it from your mind. Don't let Commander Sato's sacrifice be lost in the sea of uncertainty. Remember what he did, what he sacrificed, and fight to make that worth something."

Pain filled Wedge's chest, and he pressed his eyes closed, not ready to hear that yet. "... You sound like a Jedi," he mumbled, curling away from the hand. "I'm not perfect like that."

The moment held, but Jarrus eventually stood, retreating. "We were never perfect to begin with," he responded, and left Wedge to his grief.

Rex squeezed his way between Kree and Slater, napping in the common room as he saw Kanan enter. "How's that Antilles boy?" he asked.

"Grieving," Kanan said. "It's his first real defeat. That's a lot to take in."

Rex nodded, stepping over Hobbie and one of the communications people - Davos? No, someone else. "Just finished my shift in the turret. Where are you off to?"

"Rounds," Kanan said. "Hera thinks I'm good with people."

Rex smiled, stopping at the holotable. "You are. Just look at Ezra."

Kanan openly snorted. "That has more to do with Ezra than with anything I did."

Rex shook his head. "Spoken like a true Jedi. Too bad you never met General Skywalker, he would have liked you."

Kanan gave a wane smile, talking of the Jedi always making him a little sad. "You holding up okay?"

"Me?" Rex asked. "Yeah. We've all had losses before. We'll have more before this is all through. So long as you have your brothers everything will be fine."

Kanan paused, gaze off focus - a look Rex had seen several times with his Jedi commanders. Milky eyes turned to him, and a look of concern bloomed over Kanan's face. "Are you really okay, then? Without more of your brothers?"

Rex blinked, confused at first, before he realized Kanan was asking if Rex was okay being the only clone in the Rebellion. The compassion… surprised wasn't the right word, but even after accepting Rex as a friend Kanan never talked about the other clone troopers; he still found it hard to reconcile what they did - even after learning about the chips. Pain like that didn't just go away with one new friend, and Rex had always silently understood that it was a taboo subject. To hear the Jedi ask harkened back to the old days, when Anakin would ask how the troops were, or Ahsoka walking through the camps, talking with everyone, and the nostalgia hit Rex harder than he was expecting. Touched, that was the word, Rex was touched.

"I'm fine," he said, and if his voice was a little watery neither of them made a comment on it. "We're all brothers here."

Kanan reached out and touched the man's arm, and Rex did the same. They nodded, and Rex went off to his next duty.

Tristan stared at the walls, drinking in everything. Sabine had made an oblique comment that her bunk had her "personal touch," but he'd never imagined the litany of murals covering every inch of space. It was an entire mosaic of Sabine's life that he has missed out on, and he was torn between admiration and pain for what she had done. He'd been staring at it for two hyper jumps - between planning with Hera and his sister - and marveling at how good his sister had gotten, how her style had changed, wondering at the stories each piece told.

One told him everything, though - a giant mural on the ceiling of the crew of the Ghost. He had missed so much, she had changed so much and in some ways not at all, she was an entirely new person, except not, and standing in this room he struggled to understand.

"Sabine, have you seen Kallu-oh."

Tristan turned sharply as the door swished open, and the Jedi walked in, mask off and scars visible for all to see.

"Sorry," the Jedi said, "Didn't mean to disturb you. Do you know where your sister is?"

Tristan blinked, taking in the blind gaze. "How did you know it was me?"

The Jedi grinned. "Who else would be in here staring at all her art? Hey, did she ever finish the one with Zeb and Kallus? How does it look?"

Tristan sputtered, realizing he didn't know which painting the Jedi was referring to, didn't know the names of Sabine's crew while she was away - didn't even know the Jedi's name - and Tristan realized he was still, even after everything that happened, was neglecting his sister. Hurt filled him and he looked away. "... I don't know," he said. "Who are Zeb and Kallus?"

The Jedi smiled, soft and forgiving. "Zeb's the Lasat, look for purple ears. Kallus is the blonde human I'm looking for, lots of hair on his face." He made a gesture to his cheeks.

Tristan picked out the painting immediately. "She did finish it," he said. "It looks nice, but I don't know what it means."

The Jedi grinned. "That's the beauty of art," he said, "it's open to interpretation. Sabine must have quoted that to me for a year before I stopped asking. Her art made a lot more sense after that."

Tristan smiled at such a Sabine story. She was so pushy like that, demanding that things be done her way. "Sounds like you took good care of her."

The Jedi rolled his blind eyes. "More like she took care of us. She was a gift; we're sorry to lose her, but you must be so glad to have her back."

Tristan… didn't know what to say. He realized belatedly he was alone with the Jedi, - next to impossible with the freighter so crowded - and this was the person, according to Sabine, who convinced her to come back and challenge her family. This was the person who taught her to wield the darksaber - indirectly, this was the person who helped her defeat Saxon with his training. What had that been like? What had… what had any of her life been like while she was here? The Jedi watched Tristan as the questions burned in his head, for a blind gaze it seemed all-seeing, and Tristan felt uncomfortable in asking. Still, the Jedi just waited, and Tristan didn't know what the man could see.

"Are you reading my mind or something?" he asked, question falling out of his mouth before he really had a chance to think about it.

"No," Kanan said, "But it doesn't take a Jedi to sense that you've wanted to ask about a million questions since you came on board and saw the phoenix in the common room. I'm just giving you a chance to ask."

"How did you get her to come back?" The words came out in a rush. "She said you were the one who convinced her…"

"I didn't convince her of anything," the blind man said easily. "I just helped her acknowledge her pain."

Shame washed over Tristan as he remembered his part in causing her pain. It flushed through him suddenly and he looked away before the Jedi could see his weakness, forgetting that he couldn't see at all. There were so many thing he wished had gone differently: things he said, things he didn't say, things her didn't do. He hadn't talked to her yet, hadn't figured out how to start that conversation, how to tell her how sorry he was. Shame was a weakness, however, and Mandaloreans never showed weakness. He needed to get out of here.

He turned to leave, to push the Jedi aside if necessary, he had to get out quickly, but the Jedi blocked the way, had actually moved closer, and put a hand to Tristan's arm.

"Don't touch me," he said, stepping back, back into the room.

The Jedi smiled. "Sabine used to say the same thing," he said, his voice gentle. "She was so desperate to hide her pain, to not show weakness. It held her back. It held her back for years. Don't let it hold you back. Take a moment to breathe and just talk to her."

But Tristan side-stepped the Jedi, he wasn't ready to hear that, to hear sympathy from some blind member of a destroyed order, and he moved into the hall and away from the words.

But he remembered them.

General Dodonna rubbed his temples, exhausted as he sat in the co-pilot seat listening to the droid AP-5 do calculations for the third hyperspace jump. How Captain Syndulla put up with it was anyone's guess, but he rather got the impression that the rattling C1 unit was just as bad. Hera piloted her ship effortlessly, though, and they watched as the Mandeloreans made their final farewells and jumped. The Twi'lek captain had a soft smile on her face, and behind her Master Jarrus stood, face equally warm.

"Perhaps now we can make our final jump," AP-5 said with derision. Hera rolled her eyes and she shared a look with the blind Jedi. Dodonna saw the stars begin to streak, and he leaned back in his chair. This would be their longest jump at twenty-four hours, and then he would at last be at Yavin. His bones creaked and his knees ached. He'd been sitting for too long; he needed to move.

"Well," he said, stretching his back. "Time I saw to what's left of my crew."

Hera threw a look at Jarrus and the Jedi stiffened like a first mate. "Right, they're in the cargo bay right now," he said, "They took some of the empty crates and converted them to more beds. They're on night shift right now, should be up in about three hours, then they switch with Sato's crew. Commander Sato," he corrected, loss crossing his features briefly.

Hera touched the Jedi's arm, her own face slightly pained, before turning back to Dodonna. "Kanan will escort you to your crew, general."

"That's hardly necessary, Captain," Dodonna said.

"It's no trouble," Jarrus said. "Right this way, general."

The blind Jedi moved confidently to the aft of the cockpit, leaning forward and bracing a hand against the wall as the other traced down to find the grip of the ladder. Then a foot stepped out over open air before it tapped the ladder and traced it to a rail. Clever, Dodonna thought, and to be expected of a blind man. The general followed Jarrus down to the nose gun and then down the hall to the landing of the cargo bay. True to Master Jarrus' word, empty crates littered the bay, all opened and with blankets sticking out with the occasional boot of knee.

It looked like Yavin, when they had first landed and hadn't yet found the old temple. Warm memories filled his head, as did the familiar ache of loss.

"I was looking forward to it, you know," he said softly as he watched his crew sleep. "The siege I was going to lay on Lothal. Everything about that attack was right up my alley. It's a shame to call it off."

Master Jarrus shrugged his shoulders. "You never know," he said, "We might get another shot."

Dodonna snorted. "You Jedi," he said, "Optimists, all of you."

He remembered Master Koon, and Master Kenobi, back during the Clone Wars, and their incessant belief that things would turn up. He remembered Order 66 coming through the comms, and watching from space as everything went to poodoo. Something precious in the galaxy had died that day, and it was moments like these that Dodonna hurt the most. Nothing had been the same since the Emperor - the old cretin was slow in his changes, mostly subtle, but anyone with a brain and a memory of the old days could see the changes, and it hurt to see how far the galaxy had fallen.

A hand touched his arm, tracing up to his shoulder and giving a reassuring squeeze. Master Jarrus was offering comfort silently, eyes lowered and looking out over the bay, blind though they were. Just like a Jedi… Dodonna smiled.

"You can't die, you know that?" he asked. "You're all that's left."

Jarrus's milky eyes turned to him, face openly surprised. The words sunk in slowly, though, and he smiled, wistful and nostalgic. "The Fore will decide that," he said, "And it's not like I'm a living paragon of what Jedi were like."

"Doesn't matter," Dodonna said, looking out over his crew and their ingenuity. "Unless more of you start coming out the woodwork you're all we've got."

Master Jarrus said nothing, just turned in his darkness back to the cargo bay, offering another squeeze before moving to the edge of the landing and tracing his way to the ladder that lead up to the living quarters.

Dodonna rubbed his face, running fingers through his beard and hair, and took the same ladder to climb down into the cargo bay. He would join his crew for a nap. He needed one.

He watched from an ancient wooden chair. One of the strongest qualities of being an ISB agent was observation, attention to detail, calculation. Agent Kallus had always enjoyed his work - data-mining, watching videos surveillance, putting pieces of a puzzle together, predicting insurgents and putting them in their place. He had put down his fair share of derision, often by a few weeks of study and analysis. He had put together the identities of the crew of the Ghost fairly quickly when he had been posted on Lothol, had first their likely number and then their rolls. Senator Travys had even gifted them with the face of the ships talented pilot. Kallus starved planets to draw them out, had postured in front of that damn Lasat - Zeb - to get him mad. All of it was procedure, by the book. He enjoyed the chase, respected that this group of insurgents kept him on his toes, challenged him for the first time in years.

He wasn't sure when it had all changed.

No, that wasn't true. He knew damn well when he first saw the difference between he and they. On Geonosis' moon. Zeb hadn't been interested in playing any games, or waxing ideology, or anything other than surviving. Even that would have been expected, but it was looking after Kallus that had made the security bureau agent proverbially sit up and take notice. That was compounded upon returning to the star destroyer and no one - not even Constantine, whom Kallus had considered close - had asked after his adventure.

What he didn't understand was when that difference mattered.

Waking up alone in his room, falling asleep in his clothes after being up to the wee hours working, manipulating others to get better favor - that was the way of the Empire. It was the way of life. He had grown up understanding that was the way to get ahead. The idea of looking out for others was outdated and simplistic, a sign of weakness.

What made the Geonosis moon matter?

Kanan Jarrus walked into the common room, asking after one of the communication officers, Kree, to see if she was feeling better. He put a hand on the pilot Wedge Antilles' shoulder and shared a nod with clone captain Rex. He shared a look with the pilot, Hera Syndulla (something he had never witnessed when he was actively hunting them, and something in him burned to see such closeness) and gestured for the former thief Ezra Bridger to follow him.

… Maybe that was it. The capture of Kanan Jarrus.

That had been a victory, something to celebrate. Finally capturing an insurgent and squeeze him for information on the others. Except nothing about that capture had been victorious. The Grand Inquisitor - by Moff Tarkin's own order - had killed (beheaded) two agents of the Empire, Grint and Aresko. The central communication tower had been casually destroyed to prevent the insurgent transmission from spreading ("I'm not that old, but I remember a time when things were better on Lothol. Maybe not great, but never like this… Do you see what the Empire has done to your lives? To you families? To your freedom?"). Kanan Jarrus had been transferred to Mustafar, and Kallus had watched as…

Torture was a part of the Security Bureau playbook. Beatings, manipulation, psychology. Kallus understood the value of it, understood the need for it in the Empire. He had beaten people, certainly, had his fair share of making threats and promises. But that interrogation… The machine, the screams, the smoke, the smell of cooked meat. He had red the specs on torture tables before, but seeing one in action had been something else entirely. And most of all, he had seen the pleasure in the Grand Inquisitor's face on causing that much pain. Had witnessed the smile (the glee). A dark, deeply suppressed corner in the back of his mind felt satisfaction when Kanan Jarrus had stood up to the Inquisitor. ("I see you… growing more, and more… frustrated.") Kallus had religiously rewritten that thought of course, only acknowledged is as a sign of respect that the insurgent was so strong.

Then came Darth Vader.

Vader was ruthlessly efficient. He was the picture of what the Empire strived for - clever, unyielding, the projection of unequivocal strength. Getting rid of the traitorous Minister Tua while also making the rebels look like murderers? That was a stroke of brilliance. Kallus was in awe of what the Emperor's personal hand was like, honored to play such a small role in his larger plan, but as he read of the burning of Tarkintown… Kallus employed the same technique later, had deliberately starved a planet to draw out the Ghost, but there was a difference somehow. A difference in blockading a planet from above and burning it down from the ground.

Then came that new fighter, and Kallus realized, perhaps for the first time, that the rebels had something he didn't.

Then he had landed on the Geonosan moon with Zeb. And he had identified the difference between he and they.

They cared.

They cared about each other, they cared about their friends - space, they had friends… Zeb had received a warm welcome, something Kallus never had in his life, and only upon seeing it did he realize how much he wanted it.

He had stared at himself in the mirror for hours, had looked around his barren room, had clutched that damn piece of moon rock, trying to reconcile the shift that had been going on in him. For weeks he didn't understand what was different, not until the message was sent out that the rebel's Jedi leadership had been destroyed. Kallus had initially thought of Kanan Jarrus, the only Jedi he was aware of - and something in him grieved. Work was not challenging anymore, the rebels had left Lothol and he had little to do that was engaging as the factory was built. Kallus spent his free time trying to ascertain if it was true, if Kanan Jarrus had indeed been killed. He rewatched the interrogation tapes, hearing the codename Fulcrum, listened to Ezra Bridger's message ("It's only gonna get worse, unless we stand up and fight back. It won't be easy, there'll be… loss and sacrifice… but we can't back down just because we're afraid. That's when we need to stand the tallest!"), read his old reports and all he could feel was empty.

The Empire had taken something from him. Taken something he hadn't even realized he had been missing:

The value of human life.

"Kanan?"

Kallus looked up. Zeb had lumbered in, massive feet still silent in the crowded common room. The Jedi came from where he had sent Ezra Bridger, milky eyes out of focus but face looking to the Lasat. "Yeah?"

"Just got a transmission from Yavin. They're expecting us. Looks like we'll be the last transport to get there."

Kanan Jarrus nodded, and Kallus burned to know what had happened to cost the rebel his sight. Had Vader done that? No, that was impossible, Vader was too good, too efficient. That man left nothing to chance, it must have been someone else. But who? The agent in Kallus wanted to ask, but he more than understood his position and held himself in check.

"Do we know how many made it out?" Kanan Jarrus asked.

"They're still counting," Zeb said, voice low. "The A-wing pilots aren't all checked in yet, and we're trying to confirm if they're crashed, still in hyperspace, or…"

"... Yeah," Kanan Jarrus replied, head dipping down. "The ships with us should help fill in the picture. Wedge's squad were just about everywhere, and we were too. The data on our ships should help with that."

"Well," Zeb said, pause drawing out, somewhere between awkward and comfortable. "One of Dodonna's people is in the galley and the food's just about ready. Let's get this mess in there and eating." The Lasat puffed up, putting on airs, "I for one am getting tired tripping over all these extra mouths."

Kanan Jarrus shook his head, wry smile on his face. "Okay, people!" he said in a much louder voice. "Grub's ready! Let's get one last free meal out of us before we land on Yavin!"

Everyone shuffled out, but Kallus didn't follow. He wasn't comfortable eating with the others, and moving in general wasn't pleasant. Thrawn had been thorough in his beating, cracking three ribs and breaking one, breaking three fingers to say nothing of the general bruising.

Thrawn…

He had already made his decision before Thrawn had arrived, had made two transmissions on smaller pieces of information to gain their trust. He had many days were he wondered what the hell he was doing, but every time the Empire, every time Thrawn, laid out a plan that deliberately planned and expected massive casualties, Kallus felt more and more right in what he was doing - and more and more wrong.

He was a double agent. A spy. A mole. As a Security Bureau agent he was already privy to a lot of information, and as part of the grand admiral's entourage he was privy to even more. He played his cards very carefully, he never strayed too far over the line, and he kept his head down. It was the most difficult thing he had ever done in his life. Challenge was too small a word for what he was doing, and as right as he was he still felt wrong, because as he slowly became more aware of human life he also became aware that there were people in the Empire he actually liked. Lyste was a brown-noser but a good man, competent at his job. Seeing Admiral Yularen reminded him of simpler times when things were better. Maybe not great, as he was coming to realize, but not like this, constantly paranoid, double and triple checking his security codes, finding ways to sneak out to make his transmissions, listening to the Ezra Bridger message over and over to give him hope while he clung to a hunk of rock to remind him what he was fighting for and watching interrogation tapes and mourning what he lost.

The Empire had made him the man he was. He had come to the decision that the Empire needed to be defeated.

… What did that say about him?

As a man of the Empire, was he, too, evil? Callous to casualties like Thrawn, delighting in pain like the Grand Inquisitor, desperate for glory like Constantine? Kallus had done all of these things - created casualties and created pain and looked for glory. But he had to count himself different. There had to be a difference, lest he be a hypocrite to the very rebellion he was trying to help. But as he saw in his wooden chair, watching the rebels as they mourned together, grieved together, watched as they pulled themselves together… Kallus felt apart. Distant. Other.

Would he ever belong?

Would they ever accept him?

… Would he ever be a Rebel?

Thrawn had told him he had the heart of a Rebel, and Kallus had been honest when he retorted that he took the statement as a complement. He did because he did not feel like a Rebel. He still identified himself as a Security Bureau Agent. That had defined him for years and he could not shake the title so haphazardly. He had been utterly furious when they had sent Ezra Bridger to retrieve him, and then absolutely terrified of the thought of leaving his post - of leaving his life. How could they expect him to give up everything he knew, all of the things that made him proud (and now made him sick because how much suffering had he actually caused?), leave the only job that made him valuable? Did they think so little of him that they would remove him from the only position where he could do any good?

And yet they had heard he was in danger and come running to help.

As that realization dawned Kallus felt warmth burn through him, and for a brief moment his constant anxiety abated, and he could smile.

Of course, that warmth had been exploited by Thrawn, the grand admiral had played Kallus like a fiddle, much like Kallus had played the rebels when he was first chasing them, before they were Rebels. Caring for others had its price, and Kallus learned that lesson by sacrificing easily half of the rebellion. Every vacant face and forlorn look had been caused by him, every tear and sob he heard at night had been brought about by his hand. The loss of Sato had been a direct result of Kallus trying to warn the Rebels of the danger they were in. The consequences of his decisions surrounded him, and he was even more uncertain of their ability to accept him. Many stared at his Imperial clothes, suspicious of his place until General Dodonna welcomed his as Fulcrum, but it was only a matter of time before they learned the truth, and he did not want to be there when it happened.

He was nothing now, without the Empire, and he had no idea how to now define himself. He was lost, broken with more than just his ribs, and he stayed in the wood chair, looked at the empty common room, and mourned what he had once been.

And then a bowl of soup entered his line of sight.

"You're pretty good at hiding," Kanan Jarrus said with a bright smile. "Bet that's why you lasted so long."

Kallus stared at him blankly, catching up to the conversation's only sentence, and took the soup silently. He did not want to talk. And not to Kanan Jarrus, after what he had done to the man.

The blind man paid not heed to the silence, instead took one step back and two steps to the side, bending slightly and waving his hand around until he found a stool to the game table, picked it up and brought it back. The Jedi sat down, waited a moment, and Kallus watched the blind gaze go from friendly to polite to thoughtful. Damn Jedi, probably reading his mind.

"Zeb said you're not eating all that much," he said. "And Hera says you're up at night, and Ezra says you've barely said three words to anyone. What's wrong?"

Kallus looked away, unwilling to confess his identity crisis to the people who had saved him, the people he had been forced to call for help when all of his options had run out. The memory of the escape pod flooded his brain, he felt his heartrate double and anxiety dilate his eyes. "Or would you prefer I address you as Fulcrum?" "You're training is good but limited…" "You have the heart of a Rebel" "You may have transmitted your warning, Agent, but in doing so you've given me the last piece of the puzzle." He shook out of the memory physically, shuddering as he put the thoughts away and looked up to see Kanan Jarrus still there, still watching him with his blind, all-seeing gaze.

"You out of the flashback now?" he asked quietly.

Kallus blinked, then stiffened. How did he-?

"I sense your pain," the Jedi said, not unkindly. "It hits you in very strong waves. Like it did me…" He looked away, hand unconsciously going up to pinch the bridge of his nose, the worst of the burn damage. "I have nightmares. Hera doesn't sleep. Sabine overworked herself. Zeb didn't eat. Ezra just got angry. We all deal with it differently, but we've all been through it." He looked back at Kallus. "It's not worth hiding it."

"I'm not hiding…" Kallus replied, willing his heart to slow down and settle, glad Kanan Jarrus couldn't see his sweat as he looked away.

"Kallus," the Jedi said. "You don't have to put on a face here. You're among friends now. Rebels. Your own kind."

That was the exact opposite of what he felt, and Kallus prickled all over. He was still an Empire man, only he wasn't, but he was, but he wasn't, and he stood up suddenly to escape his own thoughts. His ribs protested, and his vision greyed out, but a strong hand gripped his arm and he was guided back to sitting.

"Okay, okay," a distant voice was saying. "It's okay, just sit here for a bit and have your soup."

Kallus followed the directions dumbly, waiting for his senses to return and his ribs to stop stabbing at him. The soup was thin, warm, and the steam massaged his face as he drank it straight from the bowl. It was worse than commissary food or ration bars, perhaps a symbol of how far he had fallen, but Kallus couldn't feel that, all he could feel were the hands that made them, and gesture that offered it to him, and the fact that he was on the Ghost, a ship he had chased for three years and yet never realized what a home it was.

Home.

He was home.

He didn't know what to do with the feeling. He didn't deserve it, didn't feel right thinking of this over-modified freighter as his home when it belonged to others much more. He was relaxed here, and the relief flooded him just as quickly as the anxiety did, and he finally sighed as he finished his soup.

"... Thank you," he said finally, handing the soup back.

Kanan Jarrus waved his hand around in the air, trying to feel for the bowl, and Kallus reached over slightly as his ribs would allow, letting it bump against the Jedi's hand for him to take it.

"Feeling better?"

"... No," Kallus admitted. "But I'm very grateful. That you took me in."

Kanan Jarrus smiled, incongruous with the scarred tissue of his face and his milky eyes, and he shrugged casually. "We take care of our own."

There it was again. Blind acceptance. Was it ironic or appropriate that Kanan Jarrus had said it?

"You don't have to talk to me," the Jedi said. "But you should probably talk to somebody. You've been through an ordeal, and it takes time to accept something like that."

Kallus shook his head lightly. "It was not an ordeal. There is no comparison…" To whatever had happened to Kanan Jarrus, to what had just happened on Atollan, to the very real pain that he had caused everyone on this ship.

Kanan Jarrus' face changed, turning serious again. "If there's no comparison," he said, "then why are you comparing your pain to everyone else's? Why is yours any less valid?"

"You're twisting my words."

"No, I'm asking a question."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Then don't," Kanan Jarrus said. "But pain like yours will grow and gnaw and fester until you don't even recognize yourself in the mirror anymore." Kallus stiffened. "You'll lose yourself bit by bit and piece by piece, and then you'll spend the rest of your life clawing back to where you were."

The words shook Kallus, but he was hardly one to admit weakness, that was a Rebel trait, not an Empire trait (only now he was a Rebel and what did any of that even mean?); he snarled, bitter: "How do you know? How would you know any of that?"

The Jedi's face shifted, just slightly, enough to see Kallus' own reflection, to see haunted milky eyes and uncertainty and so many other things that Kallus saw every morning.

"I fell for eight years after the Purge," Kanan Jarrus... Kanan... said. "I fell far enough that I didn't think I would ever be saved, and I didn't want to be saved. But I was, and I spent another eight years trying to come back to myself, only to have this," he gestured to his eyes vaguely, "take me back to zero. The only difference between then and now is that I'm not alone. I have people to talk to, shoulders to hold on to, and a future to strive for. I'm stronger because I have people who support me, and the people around me are stronger because I support them. You're not an island unto yourself Kallus. You might feel that way, you might not understand how to bridge the divide, but you aren't alone. You risked your life, your safety, your future, even your past to help us, and you're a fool if you think we don't see how much you've given up just calling for a pick up. Everyone on this ship sees what you've done, and they're glad to have you."

Something deep and long withered broke in Kallus, and he turned away before Kanan could see it, held himself silent as a swell of emotion welled up from some unheard of place, and he prayed to space no walked in and saw him smiling.

It wouldn't last – a shift of this size couldn't just resolve itself with a simple conversation – but something shifted, and a weight was lifted, and Kallus – for now – felt at ease with himself.

He risked looking over at Kanan, but the blind man was just sitting there, waiting. Zeb was across the way, arms crossed and a self-satisfied smile on his ugly muzzle, and just behind him he could see Ezra Bridger, leaning against a wall and watching with an empathetic smile.

Well, if this was to be his new home... it could be worse. At least here he had a moment to breathe.

Author's Notes: Oh, look the twins did another finale fic - what a surprise. And it's indirectly about Kanan - such a shock!

Technically this is Hera's job. She's the most emotionally well-adjusted to help with people's pain, but season 3 Kanan has improved greatly in that department - most especially after teaching Sabine, and like he said, without his sight he's learned to see things differently, and we wanted to explore just how far that could go. This also merges with an idea that never got off the ground - people in the rebellion reacting to Kanan being blind. We just didn't know enough characters yet, though, and there are only so many ways to say "It's sad. What a loss." Besides, the mourning fic kinda said everything we wanted.

Instead, different people try to process the clusterfsck of Atollan from different angles and Kanan offers them, in some way, "a moment to breathe." So much happened in that finale that we could cover a lot of angles, and just about everyone gets a moment, the same way they did in the finale.

Then we got to Kallus' scene and he stole like half the fic. But then, Kallus has the most to absorb and go through, so that makes sense that he had the most to cover. One of the great moments in A New Dawn was a scene where Sloane muses about how the Empire is run, and observes the cutthroat nature and is fine with it. What is most scary about the Empire is that people accept this as the way things are, and it's those, like Kallus and the Rebels, who learn that things can be done differently that end up getting hurt the most. It was fun to explore, at any rate, and we like the idea of Kallus first noticing something was wrong when Kanan was being tortured by the Inquisitor for fun.

Once again we had to self-beta (Tenshiiiii...!) so we hope we caught everything. As always, let us know what you think!